Of Sunrise and Cigarettes
by Angel of Insanity
Summary: Padma knows it's a hopeless cause, but she still thinks of Cho while watching the sunrise. But then she gets caught skirting curfew by Hermione and then perhaps Cho's not so important after all. Unrequited PadmaCho, PadmaHermione NonExplicit smut
1. Ritual

Of Sunrises and Cigarettes

Part One: Ritual

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Warnings: unrequited Padma/Cho, mentions of drug use

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The sun has barely broken the horizon and it's a Saturday, which means Padma's head should be squished against her pillow. In all actuality, it means that her face should be smashed hard against her pillow and drool should be trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Instead, the seat of her jeans is becoming soaked through with the morning dew and her too large sweater is prickling at her skin.

It's Sixth Year and she's a prefect, again, which means she should be tucked away contemplating the latest patrol schedule and just when she'll be able to sequester Goldstein for a meeting over policy. But, truthfully, Padma stopped caring about proper decorum and what would happen if she got caught the day she chopped her long, long hair off.

She knows she shouldn't smoke, but witches aren't supposed to worry about lung cancer. Like how Lavender doesn't care how alcohol eats at her liver or how half girls in the Slytherin house don't care about what the Ecstasy is doing to their spinal columns. Because it feels oh so good to gaze over the lake and watch the smoke weave a crazy path in the breeze. Almost like watching the Seeker chase after the Snitch.

And that, the bright little Ravenclaw chides, is the crux of the matter. How someone could mention some chit of an actress and within twelve hours she's jotting down a hurried note asking her cousin's Muggle wife who the bloody hell Parminder Nagra was. Or, how the comment could be made about how cute her hair would look slick and chin length and it's chopped off on the first available holiday. Because there was once such a thing as not being able to study enough and being too busy pouring over tomes to watch Quidditch games.

If she closes her eyes real tight, Padma can almost remember those days. Too tight, however, and all she can see is flashes of gold and swooping higher, higher, higher, and then everything's falling to the ground. Even though she tries her best, she's always been the fatalistic twin. It doesn't take much of a stretch of her imagination to see a crumpled body and a broken broom, and a whole student body screaming. But she's a prefect, the inner voice reasons, and it's her job to think like that.

Padma's always been good about solving problems and thinking up solutions to problems that she's invented in the dark, deep corners of her mind. Mostly there's just cobwebs now and thick clouds of unrequited love. So, she sneaks out on the damp green lawn of Hogwarts and smokes until the professors start to stir. It isn't hard to do because she's learned enough to charm the smell of smoke off of her and no one asks where she's been because neither of the Heads are in Ravenclaw that year and the Seventh Year prefects don't care what their lowly counterparts do.

There's always that hope though that someone will grab her arm gently and pull her to a dusty corner of the common room. Yet, Padma knows she's not as interesting as Quidditch plays or Marietta's horrid blemishes that she rightfully deserved even though none of her fellow housemates dared say it. So it's enough to stub out her burnt down cigarette and run her fingers through her short, slick hair. Even though she likes the cropped bob, no one can mistake her for Parvati now; it's a change that she's had to get used to.

Making sure to whisper the charm before she crosses the threshold into the castle and looking both ways just in case Filtch had caught on to her early morning dalliances, Padma hurried up the stairs to girls' dorms. The itchy sweater came off first and was stuffed under her bed for the house elves to find later. Her, almost close to sopping wet, jeans came next and as she was shimming out of them, a noise caused her hearted to jump into her throat. Swiveling around on her heels, denim pooled around her knees, she flushed bright when her eyes caught Cho's.

"You cut your hair off."

It's all hushed voices over the sleeping bodies and all the studious twin can think of is that it took her almost two months to notice. Almost two feet lopped off and yet it still took her this long to say anything. But, Padma holds her tongue and nods smartly and finishes pulling her jeans off.

"Thought it was time for a change is all."

This has to be the brilliant climax she's been looking forward to since Fourth Year when she noticed the dangerously pretty Ravenclaw's svelte curves through her clingy robes. The let down, the very expected understood let down, is that Padma's pulling her shirt off over her head and it feels so utterly platonic that she wants to vomit. There she is, all dark skin and black hair, standing in her panties and bra, and Cho's coming closer so they can talk. There's not going to be a kiss, even after she's got her nightdress back on over her head and settled.

"It's pretty, you know, I never took you as the type to do something like that."

Were Cho a boy, she'd know to take that as a challenge. Because it's obvious that something like that means impulsive and it would be impulsive for Padma to cross the short distance between their bodies and initiate a kiss. Unfortunately, Cho's a girl and impossibly straight regardless of the rumor spread because she's a female who plays Quidditch or because she's uncommonly close with Marietta. So, she simply smirks, because she's the only Patil who can do that right, and nods again.

Someone grumbles in their sleep three beds down and just like that the mood is broken. It won't be long before both girls are tucked back in their respective beda and Padma's sucking the aftertaste of smoke and nicotine off of the sides of her cheeks. Quite frankly, she should be wrapped up in Cho's arm and counting all the bludger inflicted bruises on her body, but, that's just not the way the Fates have will it. Mostly because she's just not that type and she probably won't ever be.

Padma Patil is sixteen years old and hopelessly in love with someone who only speaks to her early Saturday mornings because she's a light sleeper. Next week she'll be one of the first in the stands, cheering on the blue and bronze, and hoping that her favorite Seeker will cast a glance her way. She's resigned herself to the fact that it will never ever happen like that. So she squashes her face against her pillow and wonders what it would be like if she could steal a little of Parvati's Gryffindor courage and be impulsive for just a moment. Try as she might, the only scenario the, too smart of her own good, little Indian girl can conjure up is of crashing, burning, and broken hearts ripped to shreds. But, she never was the optimistic one anyway.

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Quick Note: The little mention of Parminder Nagra should not be taken as Mindi-bashing. Also note that Parminder once sported the very haircut that Padma gets. For the record, I adore Parminder K. Nagra – just so we're all clear.


	2. Habit

Of Sunrises and Cigarettes

Part Two: Habit

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Warnings: femmeslash (Padma/Hermione), masturbation, petting

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The library is probably Padma's favorite place in the whole castle. It's so old, musty, and full of knowledge that she's sure that even if she tried she'd never be able to read every book on the shelves. This, she tells herself as she flips through the pages of her Potion's text, has to be the closest to euphoria as she'll ever feel. But, even though this is a quiet, sacred, perfect space she couldn't care less about the whispers or the rumpled papers as long as no one bursts her private bubble.

Her fingers ghost down to her thigh, teasing the skin for just a moment before slipping past the hem of her skirt. It's unconscious, something she doesn't realize she's doing until her body is shaking slightly and building up to a spectacular climax. The first time she almost got caught, by Terry Boot no less, Padma thought her heart was going to explode and leak out of her throat. But apparently the smell and heat of it all simply blended in with the overall atmosphere and she'd smiled prettily and jerked her fingers out from under the elastic. Fortunately, for a Ravenclaw, Terry was quite dull.

It's certainly not something she'd do on purpose, fingering herself to near insanity while pouring over a book on Bridget Wenlock. Surprisingly it helps her remember and she has of yet to stop blushing during exams when she can not only recall exactly what the question was asking for but what her body was doing at that same time. Thankfully it's too late for any normal people to be out so she can simply chew the inside of her body lip and push her thighs further apart.

She hadn't expected Madam Pince to sneak up behind her brandishing a feather duster. Face slick with sweat and a blush darker than any rouge Lavender had ever used, Padma quietly adjusted herself. Hoping she looked less flustered than she felt, she picked up her things and sucked at her fingers as she slipped out. There was at least another hour on the clock before curfew and she desperately wanted to smoke. Rifling through her shoulder satchel, she was lighting up before she'd hit the courtyard.

Every once in a while there's that almost heavenly perfect cigarette. Then it's like presents on Christmas or getting top marks on one of Snape's essays. Most of the time it's mediocrity and somewhat stale, but, she tends to forget those times when she finally gets that perfect one. But there's a cough and when Padma looks around she groans because she forgot that Hermione and Anthony were doing rounds.

"You've got fifteen more minutes before curfew. And you should really stub that out, it isn't healthy."

The surprise of not hearing fifty sodding points from Ravenclaw sets her off kilter and so she continues to bring the cigarette to her lips and blow smoke in the opposite direction. Quite frankly, she's always been good about reading people and Hermione Granger looks frazzled and worn. Obviously looking after the other two thirds of the Golden Trio is doing nothing for her complexion. Sighing loudly, Padma holds out what's left of her cigarette and flashes a secret grin when the Virginal Princess of Gryffindor takes it.

"Anthony drive you batty?"

Hermione snorts and it's obvious that neither has to say anything else about that. The last bit of ash comes off the butt and soon it's being crushed down into the cobblestone by the toe of the Gryffindor's shoe. They could talk about their marks, both are at the top of their respective houses, but Padma's horny and Hermione just looks so absolutely fatigued that she forgets they've got exactly four minutes before curfew and leans forward and kisses her.

There's supposed to be a fight. Miss Bushy Hair Absolute Know It All is supposed to squirm and whimper and murmur apologies before she sneaks up to her bed to cry. But Padma's fingers are become delightfully tangled in that fly away frizzy nest and her knee is gracefully parting smooth, pale knees and Hermione's doing nothing about it. Nothing except that she's nipping at Padma's bottom lip and making the sweetest keening sounds she ever heard in her entire life. And with fifteen seconds left of curfew, the generally pessimistic twin pulls away and goes to fix her mussed hair.

"You just…just…Padma Patil, I am not a lesbian.'

"And I don't get off in the library while I'm studying."

That raises an eyebrow and then Padma can't stop laughing until her body is shaking with spasms. It's her first unadulterated laugh since Parvati powdered her cheeks with saffron and ended up sneezing for a week. Once she catches her breath and realizes that it's two minutes past curfew, the utterly triumphant Ravenclaw rearranges herself and offers her hand. She's not aware of holding her breath until Hermione takes it and they start off towards the stairs.

The young woman beside her is so closeted its not even funny, but, then again, so is Padma. Well, to the extent that she'd never sit up and simply scream it across the common room like Katherine Mathers did Second Year when Micah Arnold asked her to Hogsmeade. However, she's quite comfortable enough to knock Hermione off balance and push her into the nearest dark corner. And all she can think of is that the body beneath her feels like silk and smells like peppermint and that if she can't keep kissing her she'll shrivel up and die. Somehow the Prissy Perfect Prefect of Gryffindor has enough sense to slip her hands up under Padma's blouse and begin feeling for the clasp of her bra.

It's fast and clumsy and she's certainly not going to touch Hermione there in that one right spot twenty minutes after curfew because that's wrong and she wants it to mean something. So they simply kiss and pet and nip and the hallway is filled with soft, urgent sounds that would probably give Filch a heart attack if he happened to hear them. There are so many feelings floating around and popping like bubbles but the one Padma feels the most is longing. She certainly doesn't want Hermione to go up those stairs to Gryffindor Tower and touch herself while she falls into a deep, solid sleep. But they obviously can't go to bed together and they have class in the morning. Neither would ever miss a class for something as base as shagging in the hallway.

"I…"

"If you want to study together after class, we could do something afterwards."

Had someone told Padma that she'd become giddy over the way Hermione flushed at those words, she would have labeled them deluded and stomped off. But, here she is, hurriedly pulling her clothes off so that she can slip into bed and she's not caring that Cho's a couple beds down and probably awake, listening. Because even as she's pulling the covers over her head and sliding her hand down to touch herself, all she can see is the way Hermione falls apart when someone starts to pay attention to her. And maybe it's wrong and maybe she's taking advantage but it really stopped mattering when she got caught in the courtyard.

People will start commenting on how odd it is that they're spending so much time together, whisper, and make assumptions. Parvati will purse her lips and complain that Padma shouldn't spend too much time with Hermione because it's not like they don't study enough as it is. Cho will pretend like she doesn't notice that she's coming in later than usual and that she enters the Great Hall Saturday mornings with Hermione by her side, both smelling like fresh air. Because she's never really cared what people say anyway and she's tired of waiting for something she'll never have.


End file.
